Midnight of the saints

The day has come and gone.
Uneventful as to massive earthquakes,
the graves opening to release billions of bodies into the sky,
dragging along with them allegedly
a mere two hundred million souls
of those who had not yet been unbodied till that moment,
to meet the Lord in the air
according to words of pure vanity
never written or thought by the apostles
but stuffed into their mouths by teachers of unwisdom.

Fractious, factious, unfriendly, fiery purveyors of fantasy,
egged on as always by the evil one,
peddling dispensations that never were
in the mind or word of God,
nevertheless so sure of themselves
that they are willing to wreck the work of God,
to despoil the vineyard of the Lord,
to hold up to the world’s ridicule
the precious promise of the Christ to come again,
all to succor their own vain hopes,
to exalt their names above the Name.

It is the midnight of the saints,
their time of tribulation, the hour of their testing,
the furnace of their purification,
the deepest darkness
against the bright dawn of the true resurrection of the dead,
but also the time when the angelic hosts offer their praises,
unseen by the eyes of worldly wisdom,
unheard by the ears of those deafened
by the roar of the lies spawned by their divisive delusions.

Yes, we are all still here,
and Christ Jesus is still among us.